


After

by JoMarch, RyoSen



Series: Exit Strategy [28]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 20:29:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2082093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoMarch/pseuds/JoMarch, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyoSen/pseuds/RyoSen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remember <i>Exit Strategy</i>?  Cast your minds back, waaaaaay back, before the <i>Partyverse</i> appeared...Got it?  Okay, this is the <i>Exit Strategy</i> story that accompanies <i>Two Cathedrals</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: _Two Cathedrals_  
>  Disclaimer: If they were _our_ characters, they would not be attending a certain sad service at the National Cathedral. (sniff)  
>  Thanks: Who else? Morgan, of course. ;)

"Weisenburger wants 9 a.m. with Leo." 

"Leo's got Jensen at 9." 

"Can we bump Weisenburger to 9:15?" 

"Margaret, no. Weisenburger's on Appropriations. We need him. And he's anti-tobacco, so--" 

"I know that, Donna. But Jensen's on Judicial. We need her more." 

It's 7:45 a.m., I've been here for two hours, and I already have a headache. Which is fine because it distracts my attention from the pain that hits my heart every time I look at the door separating Margaret's area from Mrs. Landingham's office. 

We have to bury Mrs. Landingham today. We have to watch our world fall apart on national television tonight, but first we have to bury Mrs. Landingham. 

"Okay," I concede. "Jensen gets Leo's 9 a.m. slot. Will Weisenburger settle for ten minutes with Josh?" 

Thank god I started writing all this in pencil. We've made twenty-three corrections already, and we've only been working on this for ten minutes. "How many more do we have to schedule?" 

"Thirty-two." Margaret looks as though her headache is worse than mine. 

"Okay, let's be logical. Anyone else from Judicial?" 

"Edwards. He wants Josh." 

Don't we all? I haven't had so much as a private conversation with Josh since the night he told me that Mrs. Landingham... 

I can't think about that right now. Leo and Josh just spent an hour on a conference call with various influential party leaders, and now Margaret and I have to schedule each and every one of them for private meetings. We need these people if we're going to survive everything that's coming up in the next few weeks. Mrs. Landingham would be the first person to kick our asses if Margaret and I fell down on the job because we were too grief-stricken to concentrate. 

"Why does Edwards want to meet with Josh and not Leo?" I ask. Generally, I'd kid Josh about how unpopular he is today. Everyone wants to meet with the Chief of Staff, who also happens to be the President's oldest friend, not with the Deputy Chief of Staff. Today, however, it's all too ominous to joke about. 

"I'm guessing here," Margaret says, "but I don't think he trusts Leo. He probably thinks Leo knew about this all along." She shrugs. "So he thinks Josh is his best bet for getting at the truth." 

"Oh, god," I mutter. "Are they starting that already?" 

"So it would seem," Margaret replies. She looks worse than I feel, which is saying quite a bit. Her eyes are red from crying; she has circles under her eyes from lack of sleep. Worse, some of the spark has gone out of her. Margaret has this ability to take the important stuff in stride while she obsesses over minor things like the calorie count in the muffins they serve in the Mess. This time last year, when Mrs. Landingham and I were both out of the office, Margaret ran the President's office, Leo's office and Josh's without once letting anyone feel as though she was doing something out of the ordinary. 

Today, Margaret's still getting the work done--she's doing a hell of a lot better than I am, all in all--but her usual enthusiasm is gone. She's taking  
all this worse than I am, I think. I mean, at least I have Josh to lean on. Margaret's been dating this guy Jeff, who sounds nice enough; but he's not one of us and he can't possibly understand what we've lost. 

"Douglas-Radford's sending someone over at 10. That has to be Josh's last appointment," I say. 

Margaret looks as though she wants to cry. Or scream and throw things. I've been doing both, as Josh can attest, so I understand the feeling. 

"This isn't how things are supposed to work," Margaret says. "These people--these aides for all these senators and congresspeople--they're supposed to come when we summon them, you know? They're not supposed to demand--especially not today." 

"I know." 

"They're treating us like crooks; they're treating us like we did something wrong." 

"Yes, they are." 

"We didn't. The President's a good man. He would never lie." 

"No, he wouldn't," I agree. "For one thing, if he tried, Mrs. L would kick his ass." 

Oh, shit. I'm doing it again. I keep forgetting to talk about Mrs. Landingham in the past tense. But Margaret gives me a weak smile. 

"She really would," Margaret agrees. "Still. She'd come back especially for the occasion." 

"And then she'd tell him to eat his vegetables." 

We smile a little at that, but the lighter mood we've managed only lasts a minute. Because Margaret asks the question I'm thinking, and neither one of us has an answer. 

"How are we supposed to get through this without Mrs. Landingham?" she wonders. "How can any of us do this?" 

I wish to hell I knew. I wish that getting through this didn't seem impossible. 

I wish Mrs. Landingham were here to give me a cookie and tell me it will be all right. 

*** 

I am not enjoying these meetings. 

Because Congress is filled with many self-important, whiny bastards who have their own complicated hierarchy, Leo and I are splitting the meetings: Any Senators or Congresspersons who actually come over to the White House to speak with us face to face go to him; anyone who feels too insulted to have been told with the rest of Congress and, therefore, sends a staffer--those are my meetings. 

I have a new appreciation for what CJ's going to go through tonight; this is absurd. But at least I'm getting them in small groups, and there's not much yelling. The press conference tonight? Yeah, no thanks. 

Donna drafted a brief, informative memo addressing the pertinent concerns, which the staffers are provided with in advance. But do they read it? No. Do they ask the same four questions over and over? Yes. 

Do I want to quit my job right now? Absolutely. 

"Josh?" 

I didn't even hear the knock. I feel incredibly off-kilter today. There's just too much. I raise my face from the cradle of my hands and give Donna a bleary look. "Yeah?" 

"Toni Timian's here." She looks like hell too. Well, she's still beautiful, but there's a tragic quality to her countenance that wasn't there last week. She looks like she _feels_ like hell. 

I nod at her. "Douglas-Radford's office?" 

"Yeah." 

"Send her in." 

Donna hesitates. "Do you need anything, Josh?" 

Donna's not sleeping. I can tell just looking at her that she's not sleeping. She was, after all, quite in awe of Mrs. Landingham. I'm not sure what, exactly, transpired during my surgery, but Mrs. Landingham implied that she'd spent a lot of time with Donna. I guess they bonded, what with their bosses both being shot and all. 

And now Donna has lost that role model, that wonderful lady who--I can't do this now. I shake myself out of the descending funk. 

I give her a crooked grin. "Wanna switch jobs?" 

She looks uncertain but makes an effort to smile for me. "No thanks." 

"Just send her in," I answer gently. I'm too exhausted right now. I'm too exhausted to explain my bitter humor. I'm too wrung out to do more than exactly what needs to be done, and right now, it's these ridiculous meetings. 

"Josh," Toni Timian says as she enters, closing the door behind her. "How are you?" 

"Toni." I rise, shaking her proffered hand. "I've been better." 

Toni Timian is a large, generously proportioned woman with a pleasant face and disconcerting white-blonde hair. Her ever-present smile fades as she sits. "I'm so sorry for your loss." 

"Yeah," I nod briskly and drop back into my chair. I can't think about that; I have some strict compartmentalization going on today. Right now, it's time to deal with the political ramifications of the President's thing. I'll handle the emotional fallout from Mrs. Landingham's death later. I certainly can't do both at once. 

"He's okay?" Toni asks. 

I blink. "What?" 

"The President," she clarifies. "He's okay, right?" 

I nod. "I wanted..." I stop, clear my throat. The compartmentalization thing isn't going as well as it should. "I wanted to reassure you that nothing has changed here. President Bartlet is in remission, he's--" 

"Going to be out of a job," Toni interrupts, her tone grave. "As are you. Look, Josh--" 

"That's not necessarily the case," I answer, attempting to unclench my jaw. "President Bartlet has done great things. Something like this shouldn't outweigh the hate crimes bill, the gun bill, the--" 

"Josh." 

The tone of her voice stops me cold. 

Toni is giving me this sympathetic look that I can't stand. She shifts in her seat but plunges ahead anyway. "The President backed off of more liberal issues than he supported," she points out gently. "I'm not saying he hasn't done good things, but he should've done more. Especially if he knew this was going to come out and cripple his Presidency." 

My mouth tightens as I stare at her. "It's not going to cripple his Presidency," I say. I'm not even convincing myself. 

"He, more than any Democratic president in recent memory, had the least to lose." She's leaning forward, her eyes burning with passion, and she reminds me of myself three years ago. "He should've stayed out there on the left, fighting for what he believes in. That's how he won; even if they don't agree, people respect passion. Instead? Yellow lines, Josh. Middle of the road." 

"Toni, look--" 

"Josh, you've got to tell him," she says quietly. 

I shake my head. "No." 

"Josh--" 

"No!" 

"He can't win," Toni says. "And what's more, you _know_ he can't win. You're a savvy politician, Josh. You're the guy who put him here in the first place. _Think_ about it: You'd rather hand the White House to the Republicans than--" 

"Than tell a great statesman to step down for PR reasons?" I don't know how it happened, but I'm standing, suddenly, and yelling. "Hell, yes." 

Toni purses her lips and watches me for a moment. "Josh, think about what you're saying. Think about what would happen if Baker and his cronies got the White House: Irresponsible tax cuts; drilling in the arctic; price gouging by his corporate pals; regressive social policies; cutting off funding for birth control agencies overseas; needless military buildup. _Think_ about it." 

She's got a point. It's a point I am loath to think about, but a point nonetheless. If we lose... Hell, we don't even know if he's running; but if we lose, it could be incredibly bad for the country. Where should my loyalty lie? 

"President Bartlet," I say, "is a good man. Bottom line is, he's got heart, and the American people respond to that." 

Toni just shakes her head. "You're blinded by loyalty right now, Josh. I completely understand, but I know that somewhere in there is that cunning politician. I know you realize what's at stake--" 

"A great man's legacy," I answer promptly, my hands migrating to my hips. 

Toni just leans back in her chair, not intimidated in the least. "I like the President," she observes, her tone contemplative. "I think he's a good man; possibly a great man. I think he could have been a great president, but at this point--" 

"How can you say that?" I explode. "How can you just assume he'll lose? How can you assume that the American people won't rally behind him? They _like_ him, Toni. They think he's a good man." 

"True," Toni nods slowly. "But how many people do you think will still believe he's a good man after this revelation? How many people will write him off as politics as usual, just another lying scoundrel?" 

"He's not," I retort. 

"I know that, Josh. I'm saying, public perception--" 

"Will be shaped by the media--" 

"Which is owned by large corporations," she finishes. "I wouldn't count on a whole lot of support. They get President Bartlet out of office, they get Baker and corporate welfare." 

I collapse back into my chair. I really wish Toni had stuck to the same four questions everyone else has been asking. It's hard for me to argue with her, when I was the one making all of those same points to the President and Leo not very many days ago. It's difficult to win a debate when you don't fully believe in your argument. 

"I know," I acknowledge finally. "Toni, it's not up to me. The President will make his own decision and--" 

She raises an eyebrow. "So he really hasn't decided yet?" 

Shit. I glance down at my desk for a moment. "We're not sure. He may have made a decision, but I have not been informed of it if he has." 

Her face crinkles a bit in exasperation. "So, what? We're all just supposed to wait and see what he says tonight? His staff included?" 

"That wasn't the original plan," I answer, my tone sharp. "Forgive us for being a bit thrown off by the death of a close friend and colleague." 

Toni pales. "Josh, I didn't mean--" 

"I know." I wave off her apologies. "It's just...could we not do this now?" 

She smiles ironically. "Can you think of a better time?" 

"No," I concede. "But still." 

"Okay," Toni nods. "I understand that the President hasn't made a decision." She pauses, holding my gaze. The look on her face is making me incredibly nervous. Before I can divert her attention, she asks, "Have you made your decision?" 

I stare at her. "What the hell are you talking about?" I know exactly what she's talking about. 

"Josh." 

"Toni, I have no idea--" 

"You do too," she argues. "I've been around the Beltway a few times, Josh. I know you're incredibly idealistic. I--" 

"Idealistic?" I scoff. "I work in politics, Toni. How could I possibly be idealistic?" 

She gives me a small smile. "I'm still idealistic. Tempered by experience after the Congressional campaign, but idealistic nonetheless. I still think we can do good here. Don't you?" 

"Of course," I answer, ignoring the implications. "I still think President Bartlet can do good here." 

Toni rolls her eyes. "Josh, you've been stifled here. You've been forced to toe the line, to make sure you're not pissing anybody off. Don't you miss it? Don't you miss the rush from doing something _good_?" 

I scowl at her. "We've done good things. We put Mendoza on the bench--" 

"And you caved on the Defense of Homophobia Act. Your gun bill was so weak that gun control advocates refused to sign it, condemning it as a waste of paper--" 

"Yeah, and I'd really like to thank your boss for all her support on that," I interrupt sarcastically. 

Toni shrugs. "She wanted a stronger bill, Josh." 

"Well, having nearly been killed by a semi-automatic," I answer caustically, "I can say with absolute certainty that I'm damn glad that those punks couldn't get their hands on a Tech-9, or did the good Congresswoman think about that possibility when she voted nay?" 

Eyes wide, Toni shakes her head. I do believe I've finally managed to rattle her. Then she smoothes her visitor's badge down with one hand. "You agree with us on everything, Josh," she says finally. "You agree with us on guns; we just disagree on the means to the end. You agree with us on gays in the military, hate crimes, violence against women, the environment," she lists, ticking off points on her fingers. Then she gives me this intense look. "You _agree_ with us." 

My entire body goes cold. "Excuse me?" 

"Josh, I think you know that Congresswoman Douglas-Radford respects the work you've done--" 

"I don't believe this," I mutter. The entire world is on backwards. It has to be.

Toni shrugs a little. "I'm just saying, Josh, that there are options out there." 

"Options," I repeat. 

"Yes. Options. If you disagree with the President's decision." 

"I will not condemn this man to losing the election," I spit. "I will not jump ship." 

She nods, accepting my answer. "Keep it in mind, Josh. The Congresswoman would be happy to--" 

"Get out," I snap, rising to my feet again. 

"Josh--" 

"I have to go to a funeral now, Toni," I interrupt. "Get out." 

She watches me. "You know, you could use a little work on your people skills there, Josh." 

I don't even crack a smile. "So I've heard." 

Toni sighs and stands. "Good to see you again, Josh. And good luck with all of this." 

"Yeah," I answer, turning away to stare sightlessly out the window as she leaves. 

Nothing's ever going to be the same after today. 

***

Trying to do any of this would be difficult--the funeral, the interview, the press conference. Trying to do it all in the same day is hell. 

At least all this seems to have knocked the anniversary of Rosslyn out of everyone's minds. 

Or maybe not. Certainly it's on my mind. I doubt Josh can forget about it. But no one is discussing the anniversary at least, and we've knocked the usual endless replays of the shooting off the news. Between the storm, Haiti, Mrs. Landingham's funeral (and the obligatory footage of the President and the First Lady entering the cathedral), the rumors that are making the rounds about the President's interview on _Dateline_ tonight and the speculation about the press conference, it's what you might call a heavy news day. I'm glad of that obviously. Josh doesn't need to see footage of the shooting every time he walks by a TV in the bullpen. 

Still, I'm dressed for a funeral. Everyone around me is dressed for a funeral, and I can't help but think how very close we came last year to burying Josh. And then in December.... 

Maybe that's why I'm not as angry as some of the support staff about the President hiding his MS. No one's expressing that anger outright, but you can see it simmering right below the surface with some people. So many people here idolize the President; so many of us worked during the campaign. To many of them, President Bartlet is this larger-than-life figure; they've imbued him with this almost saintly aura, and you can tell they're bitter now that the news is making its way through the building. 

I was trying to figure out why I'm not bitter. I'd think I would be. I'm as guilty of idolizing President Bartlet as the next person. But all I've felt so far is shock and fear about what will happen as a result of this. And concern for the President's health, of course. 

I drove halfway across the country in order to play some small part in getting Josiah Bartlet elected president because I thought he was a man of integrity. Because I thought he was infinitely more honest than men like Hoynes. Because I thought he'd make a great president. 

I should be bitter. He lied from the beginning. Why don't I feel bitter? 

Part of it may be that it's all just too much to process at once. Too much has happened too fast, and Mrs. Landingham's death has overshadowed everything else. 

God, I miss Mrs. Landingham. 

But the other reason, I think, is what happened to Josh after Rosslyn. Not the shooting itself, although that was a hell I hope never to revisit. No, I'm referring to how Josh handled the aftermath. 

He was in pain--actually, tortured might be a more accurate term--after he came back to work. Everyone who knew him could see that. And I don't mean physical pain, although he'll have some vestiges of that for the rest of his life. No, what I'm referring to is the emotional fallout--the flashbacks, the panic, the nightmares. He'd reached the point where he clearly didn't want to go on, where every morning I didn't start breathing until I saw him walk through the door, and he refused to talk about what was bothering him. He refused to ask for help. He almost died because he didn't want to talk about his problems. 

Josh is an intensely private person. Sometimes that's hard to remember. He has this role he plays--the gregarious, aggressive, extremely outspoken politico. But it is a role, a costume he puts on like the suits he wears in the office. The real Joshua--the one only a very few of us ever see--keeps his demons and his sorrows and his fears locked deep inside. He doesn't want anyone to have access to those. He is so afraid of looking weak; last December, he proved he'd almost prefer death to that. He still hasn't told even me everything about what he went through last winter. 

That's why I can understand President Bartlet's behavior, I think. Maybe it's a common defense mechanism among professional politicians, but he has some of that same instinct Josh has that makes him avoid sharing the personal stuff. President Bartlet has an understandable need to guard what he can of his privacy. Especially with something like this--here's this man who has this remarkable mind and he discovers he has this disease that could threaten that. I can see where he'd be exactly like Josh and want to hide any sign of weakness. I don't think his intention was, as the Republicans (and not a few Democrats) will soon contend, to defraud the American people. I think he simply didn't want to admit that he had this problem. 

So what I feel, mostly, is worried. Worried about the President's health, worried about the fight we've got ahead of us, and (obviously) worried about the effect all this will have on Josh. Josh is gearing up for this battle; he's dealing with all the emotional turmoil of finding out about the President's illness and Mrs. Landingham and, I'm sure, the anniversary of Rosslyn; and he's cutting himself off from me. With everything that's going on, I can't take him aside and get him to deal with his emotions. 

He's avoiding me, withdrawing more and more as the day goes on. He's tired and angry, and I have absolutely no idea how to deal with that. 

*** 

I don't know how much time passes before I hear Donna behind me. I can tell it's her by the sound of her footsteps. This is something of a remarkable realization. Kinda scary. 

Can you tell I'm avoiding the issue? 

"Josh, we've got to leave in a few--" 

"I know." 

I really didn't; I have no idea what time it is. But I can't hear her voice right now. It might kill me. I'm wallowing, here, in uncertainty, because like it or not, Toni Timian's implicit offer is tempting. So, so tempting. 

I adore my job. Adored. 

Working here has been amazing in so many ways. But things are going to be different. Things are going to have to be different. I can't bear to think about it. Which is probably why the thought of walking away without looking back--the thought of walking away with Donna--is so appealing. 

And I'll admit that a selfish, angry part of me wants to hurt the President like he hurt me. Like he hurt all of us. Everything changes after today, and it's not fair. Childish, sure, but it would be satisfying on some levels to leave here and take a job with Congresswoman Douglas-Radford. I could get her in the Senate in two years, and then, four years after that, I could put the first woman president in office. 

I really could. 

"Josh?" Donna. She's concerned, now, too. I can tell from the sound of her voice and her gaunt, ghostly reflection in the window. 

I swivel around in my chair. "Yeah," I mutter, not quite meeting her gaze. 

"Are you--?" 

"I'm fine." I meet her eyes. "Are you--?" 

"I'm fine," she nods. "We've got about five minutes until..." She shrugs, a sad smile on her face. "Until the funeral." 

I can't think about that. If I think about Mrs. Landingham--if I think about that right now, I'll lose it. There is a time and a place, and it is fast approaching, but right now... Right now, I can't do this. 

"Donna, what do you think of Congresswoman Douglas-Radford?" The question is out of my mouth before I can think about it. 

Donna's brow furrows, and she closes the door. She has no idea where I'm going with this, but she's smart enough to recognize the tone of voice. "Josh, what are you talking about?" 

"Susan Douglas-Radford," I explain. 

"Right," Donna nods. "Democrat, Pennsylvania." 

"What do you think of her?" 

Donna cocks her head to the side. "She's..." She shrugs, taking a couple of steps to a visitor's chair and settling in. "I'm not sure what you're asking. Personally? Professionally?" 

"Professionally." 

Donna's gaze slips away from mine as she considers this. "She's damn good--social issues, campaign finance, fiscal." Donna shrugs again. "She's a damn good Congresswoman, Josh. You know that." 

"Yeah," I answer, nodding absently. 

"What did Toni Timian say?" Donna asks slowly, like she's working out the pieces. 

"The usual," I answer. Well, she did ask a couple of the usual questions. 

"Josh." Donna's giving me that face that means she doesn't believe me, but she knows I'm about to lose it, so she won't push. I wonder absently why I have cause to recognize that particular expression, why I have been this close to the edge so many times this last year. 

I stand, unrolling my sleeves and trying to button the cuffs. My hands are shaking. 

Mrs. Landingham was just buying a car, just driving along-- 

"Josh?" Donna says softly, from right beside me. 

"Yeah?" My eyes are stinging. 

"Do you need help?" She's already reaching for my sleeve, her capable hands fixing my cuffs. 

"I guess," I answer. I can't take my eyes off her. She's watching what she's doing, and there's a little crinkle of concentration on her forehead. And shadows under her eyes. And a tightness to her lips that's unusual. 

She is beautiful. God, I wish things didn't have to change.

"There," she says, struggling to smooth the folds from my sleeves. Then she meets my gaze. I realize belatedly that there are tears on my cheeks. Donna's face crumples. "Josh." 

Her hands slide up my arms and twine around my neck, pulling me fiercely against her. 

"Donna," I mumble. Just her name. 

Then I drop my face into her shoulder and wrap my arms around her as tightly as I can. Maybe she can hold me together for just a moment. Maybe I can let go briefly, as long as she's here to put me back together again. 

Soon I'm going to have to learn to hold myself together. 

"It's okay," she whispers. "It's going to be okay, Josh." 

It's not. I want to tell her it's not, but I can't seem to speak right now. Instead, I just hold her closer, my hands clutching at her back. 

There's a knock at the door. 

"Just a minute," Donna answers, her voice unsteady. 

God, I have to let go. 

I have to let go of her, and we have to walk out of here and go lay Mrs. Landingham to rest. I don't want to do this. 

"Josh?" Donna says softly, pulling back a bit, her hands still smoothing down my back. 

"Yeah," I manage, shifting so I can wipe the tears from my cheeks. "I'm fine." 

Donna nods and drops her hands to her side with one last squeeze of my hand. "Okay." 

"Yeah," I yell more loudly this time. 

The door opens and Carol sticks her head in hesitantly. "Sorry to interrupt; the cars are ready."

I nod. "Thanks." 

Carol shuts the door behind her, and Donna glances at me. "I'm going to go grab--" 

"Yeah." I'm still pretty much locked into monosyllabic responses, but I'm doing the best I can right now. 

Donna reaches the door, then turns back, one hand resting on the doorknob. "It's going to be okay, Josh," she repeats quietly. 

I hold her gaze, drinking her in, memorizing her. "Yeah," I answer finally. 

It's really not. It's going to be different, and it's going to be wrong. Nothing's going to be the same. 

Mrs. Landingham is gone, the president lied, and the entire administration is going to be under attack. 

Everything changes after today. 

***

"Everything changes after today," CJ says. 

The two of us are driving back from National Cathedral alone. CJ drove her car to the funeral rather than taking one of the limos. I'd planned to return with Margaret and Carol, but CJ was giving me this look that clearly indicated her need to have a private discussion with me. 

There are damn few private discussions at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue today. 

CJ jumps right into the conversation. No pleasantries, no small talk about what a lovely service it was. We don't have time for small talk any more either. We have just enough time for CJ to make her point. 

"As soon as the President goes on TV tonight," she says, "everything changes. The subpoenas will start arriving tomorrow. It's going to be a fishing expedition; they won't stop at the President's health. They'll look for anything that can make us look bad: Leo's addictions, Sam's prostitute friend--" 

"That's all old news," I reply. 

If I hadn't already guessed where CJ was headed with this, I'd understand from the pity I see in her face right now. "Exactly. That's why they'll be particularly eager to get their hands on some fresh scandals." 

"Like Josh and me." 

"Like Josh and you, yes." 

"CJ, it's okay. It's not like we're having some cheap affair. We're planning on getting married in August."

"That absolutely cannot happen. My god, Donna, do you understand what that's going to look like under the current circumstances?" I start to reply, but CJ answers her own question. "It's going to look like Josh is marrying his assistant because she knows something incriminating and he wants to be able to claim marital privilege so she can't be forced to testify against him." 

"Does that even apply? I mean, if I knew something and I learned it before we got married, could I claim--" 

"How the hell would I know? I'm not a lawyer." 

"We should ask Josh. I mean, he _is_ a lawyer, so--" 

"Josh's skills as an attorney--" 

"I know we kid him about that, CJ, but he really does know this stuff." 

"And I know public relations. The question isn't whether the perception is correct. It's whether the perception will stick. And it will. At best, you'll come off as another naive young girl who made the mistake of trusting a slick politician. At worst, you're the slut who blackmailed your boss into making an honest woman out of her." 

"And if my relationship comes out and Josh and I aren't married, I'm still a slut. Frankly, I'd rather be a married slut." 

"Donna, getting married now--it looks so bad. The Republicans are going to scream about obstruction of justice. They're going to imply that Josh is guilty of something. Otherwise, why would he marry you? Josh's life becomes the story. He won't have any secrets left when they're done. Not one." 

Even in the privacy of CJ's car, neither of us can say it--PTSD. Everything that happened last Christmas being made public, being debated in Congress and discussed on the nightly news. I'm not sure Josh can survive that. 

"Won't all of this come out anyway? Josh and me, what happened after Rosslyn? Won't they ask him all those questions?" 

"Possibly. His health--if we're lucky, they'll only ask about his physical health. Unless there are documents somewhere about his meeting with the ATVA people." 

If there are, they'll be disappearing soon. Being an assistant has its advantages. 

My expression must be entirely too easy to read, judging from the alarmed look on CJ's face. "Don't even think about it," she says. 

I'm not making any promises. Not about this. 

"What about my relationship with Josh? Will that come out?" 

"I'm thinking it all depends on how the question is phrased. God, I can see them framing it in a hostile way just to get Josh to explode." 

I nod. "Mr. Lyman, are you fucking your assistant?" I suggest. 

"Words to that effect," CJ agrees. "And there will be no holding him back. You know, I almost want that. If it's going to happen, let Josh come off as rushing to defend the honor of the woman he loves. In some ways, that plays better than a more even-tempered response." 

"But there's a chance he won't get the question at all, right? That Josh and I will just be ignored in the middle of everything else that's breaking?" 

"There's a chance. And the chance that you guys will escape unscathed increases if--" 

"If we keep our hands off each other," I conclude. 

CJ nods. "I'm sorry, but yes. I'm sure people on both sides of the aisle have noticed you two before; but if you keep a lower profile now, you might slip under the radar." 

"No more bantering in front of other people." 

"No more spending your nights with Josh." 

"No illegal touching." 

"No more of your ridiculous bets." 

"I'm not quitting, you know," I tell CJ. 

"I suspected." 

"I haven't even told Josh, but I can't quit now. He's going to need me here." 

"What about school?" 

I was looking forward to school. Also marriage. I shrug off the regret. "It can wait." 

"You'll be subpoenaed too eventually," CJ points out. "You're going to need a lawyer." 

"Josh is my lawyer." 

"Leaving aside the question of Josh's skill as an attorney, it's a conflict of interest. You're being asked to testify _about_ Josh. He couldn't represent you if he wanted to." 

"Sam?" I suggest. 

"Same basic conflict. I can have my attorney recommend someone. I've already talked to her about Carol." 

"I can't afford it, CJ." 

"Neither can Carol, but the firm's promised me they'll work something out. And it's better you do this without any input from Josh, after all." 

"I suppose." 

I spend the next few minutes staring out the window, thinking about a world where I have to make decisions without Josh's knowledge. Mrs. Landingham always said that the most important thing was your boss' welfare. I'm pretty sure that pondering the merits of perjury and destroying government documents weren't what she meant. I'm certain she'd be disappointed in me for considering these things. Sorry, Mrs. L. 

But I've spent the last year keeping Josh alive and realizing what he means to me. I'm not letting him be destroyed over this. 

No matter what I have to do to protect him. 

*** 

I don't believe it. 

I really just don't believe it. 

I heard Leo say it, I told Donna, I told Toby, and I heard the President say it, and I still can't quite wrap my mind around it. 

He's not running. 

"Goddamnit!" 

"Josh," CJ warns sharply. 

We're all standing in a strange, quiet huddle just outside the Operations bullpen. I guess we're in shock. Donna appears at my elbow, fussing over the fist I just rammed into a defenseless wall. "Josh, let me see." 

"It's fine, Donna," I answer. This is how it ends? Really? All of our sacrifices, all of the things we gave up? All of the things we have yet to give up, and it's already over? I am so mad I could spit. 

"Sam," Toby says, "we need to do--" 

"Right," Sam nods. With one last, defeated glance at me, he follows Toby toward the Communications bullpen. Toby is in attack mode, ignoring everyone around him except the people he needs. Specifically, Sam. And soon, CJ. 

CJ gives me a sour look. "I should..." She tilts her head toward Batman and Robin. 

"Yeah," I nod. "You okay?" 

She glances back over her shoulder. "Do I _look_ okay?" 

"Yeah," I answer, even though she's already disappeared through the double doors. 

Donna is still reaching for my hand. "Josh, you might have broken something." 

"I didn't even dent the wall, Donna," I argue tiredly. "I am so fucking sick of this." Luckily, we've reached my office, because my voice is getting louder and I can't seem to stop it. 

"Josh--" 

"Aren't you?" I demand. 

Our fingers are still tangled together. Donna stares at me. "Josh, what are you talking about?" 

"We're not _doing_ anything," I answer, frustrated. "We've been so fucking worried about re-election, and now we've completely missed our--God _damn_ it!" I shout. 

Donna lets the silence build for a moment, then says, "Josh, it's his decision to make. He's the one who--"

"I know," I interrupt. "I know. I'm just..." I shrug. "Angry." 

Donna squeezes my hand. "Me too." 

I give her a surprised look. "You are?" 

"Hell, yeah," she answers with feeling. "He lied to us. I understand that he was scared--I mean, can you imagine having that amazing intellect and knowing you may lose it?--but he should have told you. We could have gone hell bent for leather for this one term. No holds barred." 

I manage a grin. "You're mixing your metaphors, there, Donnatella." 

Donna smiles back. "Yes." 

I lean back against my desk and pull her so that she's right up next to me, both of us facing the chalkboard covered in my chickenscratch and some hieroglyphics that I'm pretty sure are supposed to be notes from Donna. 

"Josh, what did Toni Timian say?" she asks quietly. 

I should've known I'd tipped my hand earlier. I give Donna an amused look. "What do you think Toni Timian said?" 

"She offered you a job," Donna answers without hesitation. 

"Yes." 

Donna's eyes narrow. "She offered you a job? Really? Now, today, she thought would be a good time to--" 

"Obliquely," I interrupt. "She implied." 

"Still," Donna answers primly. "I find that rude." 

I can't help it; she just makes me laugh sometimes. 

"What?" Donna demands. "Why are you laughing at me?" 

"I'm not; I swear. It's just--the situation is absurd." 

Donna considers this for a moment, her gaze fixed on our entwined hands. I really should've closed the door. 

"Yes," Donna says. "This is absurd." 

We're quiet for a long moment, and I listen to the sounds of the bullpen. Regular, everyday sounds being made by people who have no idea they're almost out of a job. Who have no idea that the President isn't running. 

Who have no idea... 

"Are you going to take the job?" 

"What?" I glance over at her, but she's still looking down. 

"The job. Are you going to take it?" 

"I don't know," I answer honestly. 

"Oh," Donna says in this really small voice. 

"Donna?" I shift toward her, but she's keeping her head turned away from me. "Donna, what's wrong?" 

"Nothing." 

"Donna, you're a horrible liar," I say, pulling my hand from hers so that I can wrap an arm around her shoulders. 

"I am a good liar," she argues. 

"Not when you're crying." 

There's a pause, then a sniffle. "Fair point." 

"Donna, please," I squeeze her stiff frame into my body. "Tell me what's the matter." 

"Nothing." 

"Donna, you're crying." 

"Yes, Josh, I am," she answers angrily. 

"What's wrong?" 

"Everything!" she wails, pulling away from me. "The President's sick, and then Mrs. Landingham," she sobs, "and now you're going to quit and--Why does everything have to change?" 

I am shocked into silence, and I sit there, frozen, as she paces before me. 

"I was so happy, Josh," she says. "Finally. Do you know how long it took me to figure out what I want to do with my life? Do you know how many mistakes I made along the way?" 

"Donna--" 

"No, Josh. I drove halfway across the country in a piece of shit Toyota to get to where I needed to be. And I learned so much about myself on the campaign; I figured out what I want to do. I figured out who I want to be. When I grow up, Josh, I want to be CJ. And I want to be Dr. Bartlet. And I want to be Mrs. Landingham--" 

Her voice breaks. 

I push myself upright and take two steps toward her, but she holds up a hand. 

"I want to be here. I want to be doing this work that I love. And I want this," she says, waving a hand in the air between us. "And I was just getting used to it, Josh. I was just finally getting comfortable here. But now..." She shrugs helplessly. "It's all over." 

"It's not over," I answer fiercely, reaching for her hand. I won't let it be over. "Our time here isn't over. We can still do good things. And you _are_ like those women, Donna. You're strong and resilient and efficient and witty and ten times as beautiful." 

Donna laughs through her tears. "You're a bit partial, wouldn't you say?" 

I nod. "I'm one hundred percent partial, Donnatella. I always have been." 

She sniffles some more and watches me curiously. "Would you want me to--I mean, what happens if you leave?" 

"Leave the White House?" 

"Yeah. If you take the job with Douglas-Radford." 

I shrug. "I honestly don't know, Donna." 

She ducks her head. 

"Hey, Donna?" 

"Yeah?" she mumbles. 

"Did you have fun on the campaign?" 

She looks up at me through her hair, still trying to hide her expression. "Bartlet for America?" 

"Yes," I grin. 

"Yes." 

"You liked it." 

"Yes." 

"The pace, the excitement, the feeling you were out there making a difference?" I ask. But I know the answer. I know she felt that, because I felt that. We all felt that. It was an extraordinary time. 

"Yes." She lifts her head fully, meeting my gaze. "What's your point?" 

I let a slow smile spread over my face. "Donnatella Moss, you do realize that we could not only be responsible for putting the first female president in office, but that we could do it while married?" 

Donna stares at me, eyes wide. "Excuse me?" 

"Susan Douglas-Radford," I answer. "I could get her here in six years." 

"Josh--" 

"I'm serious, Donna, think about it. She's the real thing. She's smart, warm, funny, articulate. She gives good politics. Can you see it, Donna? You and me back on a campaign bus, but this time we'll start out together. No scandals. No worries. We could be back in the trenches _doing_ something." 

Donna's grinning at me now, wiping the tear tracks from her cheeks with her free hand. "Josh, you're crazy." 

I shake my head. "We could do it," I argue. I would give anything if we could do that.

"Josh--" 

"Tell me it's not tempting. Tell me you don't reminisce about the campaign trail." 

"Well," she says, "not the bus, anyway. But there are times when I miss the... atmosphere." 

"Me too," I admit. "I miss it. And here's this chance to get it back." 

Donna's smile fades. "Josh," she begins, squeezing my hand. "You're upset right now. This is a wonderful fantasy, but--" 

"It doesn't have to be a fantasy, Donna. We can _do_ this." 

I'm desperate, I realize, but if we don't do this, if we stay, everything changes.

"Josh." She doesn't say anything else, just my name in that somber, empathetic tone. 

The fantasy dissolves around me. "Yeah," I sigh. "You're right. We're too far in this." 

Donna shakes her head. "No, Josh. That's not what I meant. You're a loyal man. You'd never abandon the President or Leo. Or CJ and Sam and Toby. You couldn't do that to them. You'd never jump ship." 

I look away from her. "Yeah," I acknowledge. 

She leans closer. "Josh, you don't have to give up the idea entirely. Susan Douglas-Radford will be around in two years. If the President doesn't run--" 

"He's not," I interrupt flatly. 

"Right," she nods. "So in two years, we take a two-month vacation to Bali, and then we go get a woman elected President." Her gaze is steady, and she sounds confident. 

I can't tell her that nothing's the same. I can't tell her that two years from now feels very far away when we're looking at subpoenas and endless hearings. I can't tell her, so I try to smile. "Bali?" 

She shrugs, an answering grin in place. "Somewhere tropical, at any rate." 

I nod slowly. "Deal." 

*** 

You'd think this would be our moment of triumph, right? The President has announced his intention to run in 2002; and while that hardly guarantees us four more years of employment, it does mean that at the very least we'll go down fighting. 

Josh loves nothing more than a political battle, and I love nothing more than Josh. So it's time to celebrate, right? 

Wrong. 

We have to start the battle right now. The press conference goes on for another ninety minutes, with reporters shouting questions about everything from whether MS is fatal (Were they not listening during the interview?) to who we expect to run against in the election. But the press conference is followed by a party, yes? 

No. The press conference is followed by thirty-six nonstop hours of strategizing, beginning the process of gathering the thousands of documents the Special Prosecutor will want and, oh yes, waiting for the first round of subpoenas to arrive. 

Twelve of those hours pass before Josh calls me into his office. I've hardly had time to shut the door when he pulls me into his arms. 

You know, I can't remember his ever holding me this tightly or his ever kissing me quite like this--never this fierce or this desperate, never as though we're saying goodbye. 

Because of course we are--Josh is no fool. In fact, he knows better than most of us what's going to happen next and he's every bit as determined to protect me as I am to protect him. I know he's spent the last few days reviewing our options from every conceivable angle, and I know he's reached the same conclusions CJ led me to on the way back from the funeral. 

Everything changes after today. 

It's going to kill him if he has to say it, so I do it for him. "We can't get married," I tell him. 

Josh closes his eyes for a second, as though the words cause him physical pain. "Not just yet, no," he finally agrees. "But after." 

"After" is such a vague word these days. After what? After we testify? After the grand jury reaches a decision? After re-election or, god help us, impeachment? Maybe after the end of the second term? 

"I'll still be here," I reply. "After." 

"Not in this office you won't. You'll stick to your original plan. You'll get out now and go back to school. You'll stay the hell out of this." 

"And how will that look? Isn't it pretty damn suspicious for the Deputy Chief of Staff's personal assistant to quit at a time like this? Not to mention the fact that you need me." 

"I never said I didn't." There's such sorrow in his voice and so much longing in the way he looks at me. This is what it's going to be like from now on between us--all these things we still feel but don't dare say, not even in private. 

I find myself moving back into his arms, because I can't give him up, not yet. This time the kiss is just as passionate, but much more tender. I focus on the way Josh runs his hands through my hair and how strong and smooth his back feels beneath my hands. 

"It's only temporary," I finally say, as much to reassure myself as to remind him. "Whatever happens, this thing between us isn't going to change." 

"No," Josh admits, but there's doubt in his voice. Because, really, in a world where Jed Bartlet neglects to tell you the truth and Delores Landingham can leave you in an instant, what can you count on? 

"It won't," I repeat. My voice sounds strident, even to me. "Promise me, Josh." 

"How I feel about you isn't going to change," he says. He sounds absolutely convinced of that. So what he's afraid of is that I'll be the one to fall out of love.

No problem. 

"See," I tell him, "here's the thing. You, Joshua Lyman, do not know how to play fair. A person gives you her heart, and you're too damn selfish to ever give it back. So I'm stuck with loving you for the rest of my life. It's a sacrifice, but you will notice that I carry it off with my usual style and elegance." 

I'm going to leave it at that. I'm going to walk out the door and leave things there, when Josh calls my name. 

"I'm giving it back," he says. "Under the circumstances, that's for the best." 

"Not taking it." 

"Still. I can't...you're not mine anymore." 

For a moment, we don't say anything. We simply stare at each other while I fight this rising sense of panic. 

"That's where you're wrong," I tell him. "Honestly, I don't think that's something either one of us can control." 

With that, I rush out of his office and into the world where everything's changed. 

***

THE END


End file.
